


distracted

by Pas_dAutres



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Fluff, HQ Rarepair Bang 2020, M/M, Mentions of the yakuza and related affairs, contains violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23560459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pas_dAutres/pseuds/Pas_dAutres
Summary: Objective: gather intel on any activities that may or may not be linked to the Nekoma ClanLocation: a recently opened flower shop that's fast becoming a local favouriteWhen he took on the mission, Oikawa hadn't anticipated a certain florist to be in the game. It was supposed to be straightforward--a little recon work, no contact with outside players, just pure surveillance. Though two weeks in and he found his attention drifting to the man selling flowers on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays.Side target: male, 26, gray hair, attractive smile, pretty eyes, works open 'til close.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 22
Kudos: 199
Collections: HQ Rarepair Bang 2020





	1. Petals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's an absolutely _gorgeous_ art piece by lionheart accompanying chapter 2 (minor spoiler!!) and i highly recommend everyone to [check it out](https://lionheart-draws.tumblr.com/post/614929764131733504/my-piece-for-hqrarepairbang-which-i-did)!!

There’s a box inside Oikawa’s head. Small, dusty, forgotten for long periods until it is taken out for a quick peek before shoved back hidden again. Little is in that Box. Selective memories and emotions chosen to be locked away. For safety, for a someday.

\---

The flower shop on the tail end of the street is tucked conveniently in the neighbourhood corner. It’s a two-story building, an easy climb up. There are two entrances: one in front and one on the adjacent side. The front is crowded with potted flowers, placed around the entrance in a mess that makes it hard for one to step out. On the door hangs a crooked wooden _Welcome_ sign and an accompanying bell. Suspended above is a steel cut-out name of the store, _Petals and Pistils_.

Inside is a chaotic nightmare. Buckets and pots of flowers line up side by side, against the walls and on the shelves, tucked in some corners, and suspended in air on ropes hung from the ceiling. Little space to move around without twisting your knee to avoid knocking something over. A sharp scent of pine and soil permeates the air.

Oikawa crinkles his nose. Stinks.

He looks out the window, calculating the distance from the buildings across the street. The windows are too small and frosted. It will be hard to look inside from the roof of the building. The awnings outside are another obstacle.

“Are…the flowers bothering you?”

It’s the first time he’s hearing his voice. Solid and upbeat, clear to the ears. Sugawara Koushi. Ashen hair, hazel eyes, 5’8. Twenty-six and shop assistant at the local flower shop for the past two months since it had opened.

Oikawa gives him a blank look. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you _have_ been staring at them for a while now.” Sugawara gestures to the bucket of flowers in front of them. “With a not-so-pleasant expression, if I may add.”

Oikawa tilts his head back slightly, a small grin lurking. “Someone’s been keeping an eye on me. Have I already caught the eye of the shop’s owner?”

“I’m only an assistant here,” Sugawara replies sweetly. “And not really, I just want you to stop giving my flowers death stares. They haven’t done anything wrong.”

“No indeed,” says Oikawa. He continues to look at the florist, who stares back unfazed. His half-smile grows.

Sugawara eventually gives him a pointed look. “If you don’t need anything, I’ll be on my way then.”

“That’s not how you should treat your customers.”

“Are you a customer?” Sugawara flips back.

“Depends. Haven’t found anything that has impressed me yet,” says Oikawa, giving Sugawara a pointed eye.

Sugawara pretends to ponder before moving to pick up a long-stemmed bunch of pink and violet flowers.

“Here, Larkspur. Means love and affection and a pure heart.” Sugawara lays a hand to his left chest. “Can also cause drooling, abdominal pain, paralysis, or death.”

Oikawa stares at the bundle handed to him.

“Is there anything else I can help with?” Sugawara clasps his hands in front of him and beams a giant grin. A mask of innocence. Before Oikawa can answer, he ends their exchange with, “Wonderful! Cash counter’s in the back, thank you for your business!”

Oikawa watches the back of Sugawara’s retreating form, the events of the past few minutes replaying in his mind. Pure hearts and affection are foreign concepts to him; but death, he can do.

A crackle in his ear brings his attention to focus.

“What are you doing?”

At the sound of his technician’s voice, Oikawa scans his surroundings. No one nearby. He replies lowly, “intelligence gathering.”

“Doesn’t look like it to me.”

“Did you get all that, Iwa- _chan_? He’s an interesting study.”

“Get the hell back before you jeopardize the operation."

The line is cut before another word can get out.

Oikawa starts towards the entrance, chucking the Larkspur bundle in a bucket on the way.

"Thanks for coming by, have a nice day!"

Sugawara’s voice is honeyed as it is flippant. Something crawls under Oikawa’s skin. It’s digging deep to find a Box. It makes him want to bite back. He gives a mock-salute.

"This is a cute shop, Suga- _chan_. Though I'm not sure about the flowers, they look a little dead to me. Try watering them once in a while!"

Oikawa leaves the store with a smirk.

\---

His latest mission is an anomaly. It had come in the form of an envelope containing one million yen in cash, a burner phone, a printout map, and a single slip of paper with three lines:

 _Find the connection Petals and Pistils’ has with the Nekoma Clan_  
Minimal engagement  
You’ll get your other million when the job is finished

“No target?” He had asked.

“Pure intelligence gathering. Report details using that cell, direct connection to our client. You have a month.”

Oikawa had given his handler a long look before leaning back in his seat. “That’s a lot of cash up front. A million to play detective? Not a good use of my skills, I’d say.”

“You do not get to choose, Oikawa.”

“Who’s the client?”

“Take it or leave it.”

Either a politician, a financier, or whichever clan dumb enough to go up against Tokyo’s largest _yakuza_ group. Or the Shiratorizawa clan. Sendai is their territory. Anyone outside operating on their turf has a death wish.

But of course he had taken the job—whatever is brewing up a power struggle, Oikawa gladly will take a backseat and watch the theatre unfold. Money is money and this assignment is a stroll through the park. The most he can do with his sniper rifle is to look through it.

Hell he doesn’t even bring it. Small town locals get uncomfortable with big foreign objects. They like quiet, comfortable, quaint.

A day later, Oikawa had stepped off the train located at the foot of a hill somewhere in the middle of the Miyagi prefecture, dawning in casual clothing with one travel-worn briefcase and a guitar case slung on his back.

An hour later, the room he’d checked in for a month had turned into the temporary workspace he’d set. It’s satisfying how the store comes just into view from the window, conveniently across the block where Oikawa can stay conspicuously out of sight.

A week later, photos and scribbled notes decorate the wall in a chaotic montage, re-organized inside Oikawa’s mind to take in the information. He’s done his homework.

 _Petals and Pistils_ had opened just two months ago, operating on an overlapping rotation of three individuals: a blonde part-timer, a ginger in his last year of high school, and an ashen-haired man who minds the shop save for Wednesdays. All employed under an elusive owner who hasn’t shown her face once in the past week.

Business hours are Monday to Friday, 6AM to 10PM. The shop offers the usual services of flower arrangements and customized bouquets. Customers come in a mixture of students, parents, office workers, and elderlies—all residents of the town. Inventory is restocked on Mondays with early morning deliveries in the form of a medium-sized truck, simple white with no logos or names, and batches of fresh flowers are transported through the side door, the only other entrance to the building. A security camera hangs on the corner.

Oikawa tips his chair just slightly back, his neck craning forward to create that perfect balance where it feels like he’s suspended in air. There’s a precise combination of angles, weight, and control in which equilibrium is achieved and it’s in this point of stasis is how Oikawa finds his focus.

He scans the Wall in front of him.

A week into the stake out and he’s gotten down the general who, what, when, and where. Front, side, and aerial shots of the flower shop, its staff, and its frequent customers. Their backgrounds and history records. The license plate of that delivery truck. Basic homework done.

He’ll be honest: it’s dry work. Watching a building 24/7, seeing people enter and leave said building, boyfriends rushing for last-minute purchases, parents taking their kids and sometimes catching up with other parents as if they haven’t seen each other in _such a long time_. It’s domestic. Too normal.

Unsettling.

Oikawa slides his eyes over to a certain picture pinned on the wall, a label in the corner with Oikawa’s writing, ‘ _Sugawara Koushi’_. The one that stands out and calls to him no matter how much he focuses on the other photos, compelling his eyes to linger just a bit longer on the man’s picture.

Sugawara has been working at the place for as long as it had been opened. He’s the first one to open the shop and the last to close. A biology major who’d decided not to pursue graduate school and instead had chosen to move to a nearby town for a flower shop assistant position, Sugawara leads a quiet life.

The very grace in his soft composure has an inviting effect on Oikawa. It’s oddly captivating watching how the man interacts with his customers, with familiar ease and poise; as he cocks his head slightly, grey locks falling to the side; as he presents bouquet options, the crinkle in his smile matching the curves of his eyes. The way he seems to take joy in watering the plants outside, hauling the hose around bright and early in the mornings, and how he scrupulously wipes the window panes and huffs afterwards as if he’s very proud of his good work.

He brings a foreign warmth to Oikawa that has never been paid attention to, except now and it disturbs him. A week into this assignment and his eyes seem to always find themselves back to the florist’s whenever he’s outside, like moths to a flame.

It’s kind of refreshing.

His phone buzz and Oikawa taps to accept. His technician comes online.

“Why do I always have to babysit and watch your every move?”

“You take it upon yourself, Iwa- _chan_. Like a mother hen.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t take the bait. Paper rustling can be heard before Iwaizumi continues. “Truck checks out. It’s registered to this delivery-service company that distributes for a wholesaler. A greenhouse eighty kilometres out. Supplies to a bunch of flower shops in the region.”

Oikawa’s eyes drift to the photo of the delivery truck. “All legit? Independent?”

“Two independent shops, one chain with three stores in the northern area. Haven’t checked legitimacy yet.”

A text comes in and Oikawa scribbles the received address and details onto a sticky note before putting it on the wall. The same information is sent to their client using the burner phone. No response has been received from the other side; sometimes Oikawa wonders if he’s just communicating to a dead wall.

His first lead is the delivery trucks that come by every Monday for resupply. Funny how the vehicle have no logo or prints on them, nothing to go by save for the license plate. Legally obtained and registered to a start-up delivery service that apparently needs only a website to operate. Odd that a wholesaler would employ such an obscure company.

What he needs are white papers. Financial records, contracts, documents of any business transactions and deals with the Nekomas. Blueprints to the building so he can scope the place out and find out what else it’s used for.

What he truly wants is action. He’s been breathing hotel air for far too long and his muscles are itching for movement. A little bit of human conversation doesn’t sound too bad either.

And he has an idea of where to start with that.

“Slow down, Oikawa.”

“What do you mean?”

“Minimum contact, client specifics. Remember? Be careful of which stones you step on.”

“Mother hen, Iwa- _chan_ , mother hen.”

The call drops and the room is once again subdued with quiet.

Deafening silence is no stranger to his ears. Target hits are usually a one-man job and interactions with people outside his world recklessly unnecessary. Communication happens only between him and Iwaizumi, not even with his handler except for when the target is eliminated.

Assignments like this, when he has the chance to talk to outside players, are rare to come by. An image of Sugawara pops into his head. No complaint there.

\---

It’s a different delivery truck this morning. Oikawa zooms in on the license plate with his phone and takes a snapshot from his window view. Pixilated and blurry, the characters barely legible but no doubt Iwaizumi can clear it up.

He waits another half hour before leaving the unit, ruffling his hair on the way because Sugawara doesn’t need to know he’s been up since 4AM. People tend to have their guards down when they see someone so laidback and barely up from sleep.

The bell gives a little ring when Oikawa enters the shop. A sharp scent of soil and pine hits his nose. The area seems empty, no customers and florist in sight. He hears rustling in the back and spots a tuft of gray hair springing from behind the cash counter.

Target found.

Sugawara peeks up and hums when he sees Oikawa.

“Back for more?”

“You don’t sound as aggravated as I would’ve liked.” Oikawa strolls towards the back, hands in his pockets. He lets his eyes wonder around. There’s a security camera in the corner, opposite to the counter. Low-tech it seems. A small cardboard box sit beside the rather outdated cash register, half-filled with paper-clipped receipts. No card machine in sight.

“Does it bother you?” The florist stands. He’s wearing that yellow apron again, a tacky drawing of a sun and flower stitched over the breast-pocket with a nametag clipped on top.

Oikawa pauses, examining the innocent face. Sugawara is staring at him intently, his smile small yet bold, challenging him to take a jab again. “Not at all, I think I like it,” he finishes with a matching smirk, finding satisfaction in the falter in Sugawara’s smile.

Sugawara steps away from the counter to pull out a fresh batch of flowers. With a utility knife, he starts the stems one inch from the bottom. “What can I do for you this time?”

“Just visiting. Browsing. Seeing if I can pick something up along the way,” says Oikawa.

“You’re not here to buy flowers.”

“How would you know?”

“From the way you dumped my Larkspurs into the bucket like trash.” Sugawara looks up at him pointedly. It’s a wonder how he’s still able to keep trimming without cutting his fingers. “And how you accused me of wrongfully treating the plants.”

“ _Implied_. And my interest might have sparked over this weekend,” says Oikawa. He leans over the counter on crossed elbows. “You should never assume things, Suga- _chan_. Might lead you to dangerous situations.”

If the nickname has bothered the man, he does a good job not showing it.

“So, got any recommendations? For real this time, no deaths.”

Sugawara chuckles. “What’s your budget? What and who is it for?”

Pick a number, any number. “3000 _yen_ , myself to take home as souvenir.”

“And where’s that?”

Pick a place, any place. “Kyoto.”

“That’s a long way’s travel to acquire something as common as flowers. From a no-name town no less.”

Oikawa shrugs. “On a business trip for a few weeks.”

“And what do you do?”

“Why so curious, Suga- _chan_?”

“I’m a nosy person.”

“I thought the topic at hand is figuring out what I should get as my first houseplant.”

Sugawara pretends to release a big sigh. Finishing up with the stem-trimmings, he cleans the tabletop and transfers the flower bunch to the back counter.

“Low budget, no experience, fleeting interest. A poor combination—are you sure you’re ready for such commitment?”

Oikawa trails his gaze down the long of Sugawara’s back. The apron holds a bright contrast against the white of his plain tee, hugging his sides loosely. His hair blends into his slender neck, curled slightly at the base where the knot of his vertebrae protrudes. He’s not thin by any means. _Delicate._ That’s the word.

“Questioning your potential customers again, it’s not how you do business,” he teases. “Maybe I should have a word with your manager.”

“She’s not here today, so you’re stuck with me.”

She’s not here any day, Oikawa mentally remarks. Shimizu Kiyoko. Owner. That’s what the official documents say.

“When is she here?”

“Now who’s the one with the many questions?” Sugawara moves to restock the buckets with the fresh batch of flowers. His movements are slow but sure, soft in his nature but confident in his work. He doesn’t seem bothered by Oikawa’s persisting presence—in fact, he’s doing a damn good job tolerating his loitering here.

The first customer of the day finally rolls in. An elderly woman, to whom Sugawara apparently recognizes as he rushes up to greet her. His voice lowers to a quiet hum, gentle and warm like the gaze he holds for her. The old lady begins on a long verbal journey, something about her granddaughter, and Sugawara seems intently on the ride, listening to her story. His smile and little nods, the reactive tick in his eyebrows, the genuine interest shown in the flush of his cheeks.

In his observations for the past few days, he notices the subtle switch in Sugawara’s disposition whenever he talks to his customers. Oikawa can only call it a glow, a glow of _something_.

He leans back against the counter, lazily taking in the view. With the two are preoccupied in the front, Oikawa let himself wander, head lolling to the side as he catches eye of the box of receipts. If this place is behind the times with their point of sales, their records are no doubt in paper form.

The security camera appears in the corner of his eye. Placed in a position where it has a bird’s eye view of the entire shop plus a bit on the _Employees Only_ door to the right of the cashier. Flower thieves won’t stand a chance.

He checks back to the front to see the old lady departing. Sugawara watches from the inside for a while before returning to his task, picking up a broom and sweeping. He’s humming now, accompanied by a smile genuine unlike the one Oikawa had received earlier.

The late morning light finds its way through the two wide windows, feeding life into the assortment of flowers hanged in buckets and suspended wall to wall, lined bottom to up. It hits Sugawara’s moving form sometimes, catching his pale skin by the arms. There’s little room to move, or in Sugawara’s case, sweep. Every step is a creak in the wood boards and an evasion from potted plants on the floor. Like a waltz.

It’s been a while since he’s heard a person hum.

Oikawa shuts his eyes for ten small seconds. People hum when they’re in a good mood right?

“You sound happy, Suga- _chan_.”

“I am.”

“Care to share?”

“My happiness?” Sugawara chortles. “Go find your own.”

The quick buzz from his phone reminds him of the irony. His finger twitch against his pocket, unable to reach for the device.

Sugawara finishes with his cleaning and moves on to mist the plants. The expression on his face is concentration, lips slightly open as he makes sure every blooming petal is sprinkled and hydrated. He beams when they’re in good shape and frowns when he sees something wrong.

“Suga- _chan_ likes working here.”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“Because I like the normalcy behind it,” Sugawara says with ease. “People come here to find something for their friends and family. To celebrate an event or remind themselves of the trivial things. I get to be a part of that, I get to help. When they tell me what they’re looking for, they give me a one-second window into their daily lives.”

The florist reaches to the potted plants section, looking over the selection. “I guess I find comfort and joy in the everyday things. It grounds me.”

He picks up a small succulent and walks over to Oikawa.

“Here, a Blue Star,” Sugawara offers. “It’s a pretty good choice for a first-timer. Water it every other week. Succulents drown more often than they dry up.”

Oikawa looks with scrutiny. It’s pale green, plump and fleshy. Opens up like a flower in full bloom. Tiny but full of life.

That crawl-y feeling is back, dug deeper than before. Somewhere in Oikawa’s mind, a Box is opened. It’s opened and instead of stuff coming out, a new thing is put in. A name.

“You still haven’t told me what you do.” Sugawara lightly reminds, his eyes kinder now and twinkling. “And your name, as a matter of fact. I don’t think that’s fair.”

What are the odds that a second buzz from his phone goes off right then? It’s a reminder, resounding to the words in his head.

_I kill for a living._

\---

Iwaizumi is quick with his work. He comes back with details on the new delivery truck before noon, or rather lack of.

_‘expired. there's no sticker on the plate’_

_‘Who was it registered to before?’_

_‘a fake name. issued in sendai’_

Not a complete dead end. Either this delivery service is cutting corners not paying for a license sticker or it had fucked up and left them a bread trail.

Oikawa slaps a new sticky note with the newly-received information on the Wall and quickly types his response, ‘ _Trace it. I want a name._ ’

Iwaizumi comes back with a message that doesn’t sit well with him.

‘ _the florist is the only one who handles deliveries_ ’

His lips purse.

‘ _Minimum contact no? Client’s wishes. And yours._ ’

‘ _you’ve already broken orders and established a connection. use it.’_

Oikawa doesn’t respond. Reading the last words puts a sour taste in his stomach and for once, the inn room is too quiet. He glances over to the nightstand far off in the opposite corner, pausing at the succulent. It looks out of place. Like it’s attempting to thaw the pristine cold room but failing miserably.

He remembers brushing against Sugawara’s palm when he’d taken the plant. A moment short-lived yet lasting in his mind.

It’s been a while since he’s touched another human.

Oikawa moves closer to the hotel window. From the angle of his view, he can see Sugawara preparing to close shop. This town goes to bed early, with its streets cleared of cars by dinnertime. The last of his customers seem to have come and gone, leaving Sugawara to his solitary self. He wants to join him.

Both phone and earpiece are tossed onto the bed and Oikawa heads out. Iwaizumi can mind his own business.

Sugawara is watering the flowers on the window box when he walks over. The man wears a pair of green gloves too big for his hands and rubber boots to match. Close up, Oikawa spots two hairpins keeping his bangs in place.

“Heading home?”

Sugawara doesn’t seem surprised by his sudden presence. He hums an affirmative.

“Do you live nearby, Suga- _chan_?”

“I’m not going to give the whereabouts of my address to a stranger.

Oikawa crosses his arms. “I’d say we’re well past the rapport of mere strangers.”

“I’ll consider us acquaintances when you give me your name.”

“Hmm, I kind of like being dark and mysterious.”

Sugawara holds back a chortle and flicks the watering can towards Oikawa. Only he may have gone overboard as Oikawa jumps back from the sudden splash.

“Oops, sorry!” This time, Sugawara lets out a short laugh. Settling the container down, he reaches out to swat some of the water droplets out of Oikawa’s hair. And it’s just hair, but Oikawa feels tingles rushing down his spine.

He remains still, suddenly interested in the beauty mark in the lower corner of Sugawara’s left eye. It makes Sugawara’s eyelashes pop, emphasizes the curve of each lash and draws out the roundness of his eyes. They’re hazel, Sugawara’s eyes, light enough to almost match the colour of his hair. And Oikawa gazes down to think, _oh he’s pretty_.

It’s a slow few seconds of stillness before Sugawara steps back and lightly offers, “You must be real bored if you’re here twice in a day.”

The words come out of Oikawa boldly before he can think. “No, I’m just interested.”

Sugawara falters, an unsure look appearing on his face. Score.

The buckets and displays are now all inside, placed neatly by the entrance. Sugawara goes to switch the shop lights off and shuts the door closed. There is odd contentment in watching him.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Sugawara eventually breaks the silence, his voice soft and cautious.

Oikawa’s about to ask why when a soft purr of engine from behind him. He turns to see a black car roll up and stop in front of the shop. The same one he’s seen picking up the florist a couple of times. A young man with sleek black hair gets out from the driver’s seat, his narrow eyes fixed on Oikawa like a marksman focusing through his lens.

Who the fuck.

Sugawara walks past him and gives the runt a soft smile. The young man begins to walk around the car before Sugawara shakes his head. He tightens his lips and obediently gets in the car.

Sugawara turns his head towards Oikawa and offers an apologetic smile. “Don’t mind him. Have yourself a good night, alright?”

All Oikawa does is look as the car starts down the street, his expression revealing nothing to imagine.

Despite better judgement, despite Sugawara’s words, Oikawa decides to mind.

\---

Black Hair is here again.

His car is parked on the street in front of the side door. This time, Oikawa remembers to snap a picture of the license plate and of the man and sends them over to Iwaizumi.

_‘New face. He was here at closing time last night.’_

_‘customer?’_

_‘Find out.’_

_‘anything on the deliveries?’_

Oikawa ignores the question and instead pays his attention on the black-haired runt.

The man walks around the corner, decked in a white button up and black slacks. His movements are clean. Quick strides, arms restrained at his sides, gaze straight forward. Nothing sloppy about him.

Oikawa follows, putting a bit of distance between them. Sugawara is off today so why is he here again?

The man stops to talk with an orange-haired man currently tending to the flowers outside the shop. Hinata Shouyou: twenty-three, college drop-out, part-time clerk. They know each other, judging from the way Hinata’s face beams up.

Oikawa sticks his hand in his pockets and casually strides up. “Yaho!”

He grins, taking in the odd satisfaction of how tense the black-haired man suddenly turns. “We meet again!

Hinata glances between them before asking, “Who’s this, Kageyama?”

Kageyama.

Now he has a name to stick to the ugly mug.

Kageyama doesn’t answer, instead wears on a disapproving frown.

“Why so glum, chum?” Oikawa greets.

“Don’t call me that.”

“You won’t be able to make new friends if you keep wearing that scowl.”

“Don’t need any.”

So edgy. No class. What is he doing around Sugawara?

A head full of orange hair appears in front of Oikawa. Hinata huffs and glares up at Kageyama.

“Who is this and how do you know him?”

Oikawa patiently waits. After a short while, Kageyama reluctantly mutters, “he was the one, with Sugawara- _se…san_. Last night.”

As if some big secret has been revealed, Hinata gasps and whips his head around. Oikawa raises his single eyebrow. Kageyama makes it sound so scurrilous.

Hinata backs into Kageyama with his hands up in caution. “W-what do you with our Suga- _san_.”

Oh.

Oikawa lowers his head, tilting just so to give off an illusion of sly intrigue. “ _Your_ Suga- _san_?”

He sees Hinata about to deny when Kageyama gives a confident reply. “That’s right. Please do not bother him any more than he needs to be.”

Oikawa let out a dry chuckle. “What are you, his keeper?”

When Kageyama doesn’t respond, Oikawa suddenly gets irked. The punk wears a neutral expression on his face but he can see the arrogant glint in his eyes. It’s the same expression he had worn the previous night, when he picked Sugawara up and effortlessly drives away. To home, no doubt.

Taking a step closer, Oikawa raises his chin just slightly, peering down at Kageyama. There’s nothing about this kid that stands out. Straight black hair, sharp eyes, crooked nose and even more crooked mouth. Makes for bad target practice.

And it makes him sick. A sour hotness boils from the bottom of Oikawa’s stomach, pooling into a green form. This obscure sensation, unpleasant in nature, keeps growing and growing until it reaches inside his head and finds a box to call it home. A Box that, now having a will of its own, keeps on opening up more and more.

He hears a question in his mind. A chant-like question repeating itself and becoming louder. The green monster demanding to know, _who are you?_

Who are you?

 _Who are you who are you who are you_ —Oikawa asks silently as he continues to stare down at Kageyama. _Who are you to Sugawara_?

In the background, he hears the opening of a door, the bell ringing, and a young blonde stepping out in a hurry. She puts a hand on Kageyama’s arm and lightly tugs him back, while addressing Oikawa in an apologetic manner.

“Sorry mister, was there something that was bothering you? Kageyama _stop_ please!”

Kageyama, Kageyama. Seems like everyone knows him. The pompous nitwit who doesn’t know better but still acts like he’s in on something grand.

_I could put a bullet through your head in a manner of seconds._

“Mister?”

Oikawa breathes in. He takes a step back and gives an easy smile to the girl.

“My mistake,” he concedes. “Just a slight misunderstanding.”

But the red still covers his eyes and the green remains in his head. Kageyama’s impudent face flashes before him and doesn’t leave until Oikawa’s back in his room, sitting balanced on two legs of his chair and staring at the pixelated picture of the brat. There’s something. Something off about the punk who stays guarded over Sugawara, acting almost vigilantly over the florist as if he has the _right_ to and Oikawa. Sees. Red.

He sees red whenever he lay eyes on Kageyama’s photo on the Wall. He hears red when Kageyama’s words replay in the back of his mind-- _do not bother him anymore_. He feels red when intel finally comes in from Iwaizumi about the boy: twenty-three, high school graduate who went straight into the labour force, had dreams of going pro in volleyball which were quickly dashed when an injury happened. Now he takes whatever odd jobs come his way.

The blandest biography Oikawa’s ever come across.

Still needs to be reported. He sends the latest information to his elusive client, texting details on Kageyama on the burner phone. Here’s a new player in the game.

He stares at the delivered message before tossing the phone on the table carelessly.

It unsettles him. Whatever _it_ is. He’s rarely unnerved and even more so distracted like this. Oikawa let his eyes wander around the room, taking in the plethora of information stuck on the wall and the paper files spread on the tables, the bed barely in disarray since Oikawa doesn’t sleep under covers and all of a sudden, the succulent plant tucked safely in the corner of the room doesn’t seem to belong here at all.

The plump plant nestled in the red-brown pot stands out, doesn’t fit in with the rest of the chaos. It needs to be somewhere else.

Oikawa needs to be somewhere else.

And so he brings himself back to where his body takes him, on an early morning the next day when it’s a little cold and damp and the weather is drizzly. He’d ignored Iwaizumi’s call—twice. Left his earpiece out in fact. This is just an outing, a quick in and out. Shouldn’t take more than an hour. He’s allowed to have breaks on the job.

Oikawa brings his succulent plant along. No clue why, it just feels right. The pot lies securely in his palm, held stiffly to Oikawa’s abdomen because he doesn’t know how else to hold it. He doesn’t even know if he’s taking care of it properly. Maybe it’s right for the thing to go back home, to a place where it’s warmer. And softer and lit with sun and in the constant care of people who actually give a damn. A place where it smells of soil and pine and _life_.

The aroma hits his nose like the memory of a distant childhood rushing back. Oikawa doesn’t realize how comfortable he feels around this scent.

He looks around and spots Sugawara by the counter, occupied with a half-finished bouquet, though he stops in his steps when he notices the disapproving frown on the florist’s face. Oikawa spots Hinata tending to some flowers and waves a hello, only to be returned a nervous _eep_ and a side-eyed glance.

Sugawara doesn’t greet him in his usual manner so Oikawa waits. Clearly he has something on his mind.

“I heard you caused a bit of a ruckus yesterday,” Sugawara says after minute of silence.

“If that’s what they told you,” Oikawa replies.

“And that you instigated it.”

“Am I on trial for something?”

Sugawara gives him a pointed look before picking up the X-Acto knife with deceivingly swift fingers and efficiently cuts off the stems and leaves of the flowers in his hand. A low kind of heat swirls within Oikawa. Sugawara is…quite good with his hands.

“I meant it when I said not to mind Kageyama. He’s just…quirky like that,” says Sugawara in a rare hard tone. “In fact, don’t cause any more trouble for my staff. You’ve got Yachi shaking in her boots yesterday.”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow. Quirky isn’t really the word. “ _Your_ staff? I thought you’re ‘only an assistant’.”

“They’re still _my_ juniors,” Sugawara heatedly defends. He pauses his flower-arranging to stare directly at Oikawa, earnest and unwavering. “I have a responsibility towards them as well as this store. So don’t mess with them.”

It’s becoming to become less clear on whether or not they’re speaking on the same page. Yesterday’s encounter has been a mere blip on Oikawa’s radar of action-intense moments but after observing Hinata and Yachi’s behaviours, they must’ve blown up the story.

“Sounds like you care more about this place more than your manager.”

Sugawara finishes the last of the stems before twirling the X-Acto knife effortlessly around his nimble fingers and pointing it towards Oikawa, the tip dangerously close to his nose before it’s retracted back into the case.

“Don’t. You can bother me all you want, but don’t look for trouble with them.”

It’s funny, how that particular choice of word has an effect on Oikawa. Not so much as a sharp sting, but a dull jab to his chest, a feeling as foreign as it is unexpected. A bother. Has that what Sugawara been seeing it?

Iwaizumi’s wrong. There is no connection. To Sugawara, he’s a visitor touring this town, a fleeting memory-to-be. And for Oikawa, this is just a one-second window to Sugawara’s life, to normalcy. And when the next second arrives, he’ll be off to his new assignment. The Box will be closed, packed, and shipped off.

Except—

Oikawa’s not ready for the Box to be sent away yet.

“Tohru.”

Sugawara looks puzzled.

“My name. Tohru,” Oikawa says, drawing the strokes of the kanji with his finger on the counter. 10 strokes, a completely different character than from his real name. But that’s the beauty of the language. Sugawara doesn’t need to know.

The florist follows the movement of his finger, slowly recognizing the character. His eyes lower to a relaxed state, a smile permeating through in small doses. Sugawara looks up with a softer gaze and lets out a sigh.

“Tohru,” he echos. The two syllables on his lips sound as heavenly as the look he gives.

Oikawa is forgiven.

Despite knowing that it’s the wrong name, Oikawa feels a warm thrill upon hearing it from Sugawara’s mouth. The heat pools from the bottom of his stomach and pushes through to his chest, inflating it, filling it with air and warmth and a new kind of excitement.

One that doesn’t require pulling a trigger and seeing a black hole in a dead man’s body.

And Oikawa welcomes this new warmth unequivocally.


	2. Pistils

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's an absolutely _gorgeous_ art piece by lionheart accompanying this chapter and i highly recommend everyone to [check it out](https://lionheart-draws.tumblr.com/post/614929764131733504/my-piece-for-hqrarepairbang-which-i-did)!!

It gets easier from there on.

Easier to engage, easier to swallow, easier to ignore that sinking feeling. The warning signs muted and shoved to the corner of his mind because for once, just this once, Oikawa will allow the Box to be opened and explored and prodded at. Sugawara’s smile is, he assesses, worth the risk.

Which, speaking realistically, isn’t high considering the nature of this assignment. The client doesn’t need to know the details of his action as long as they get what they’ve asked for. He’s not disturbing the peace, only Sugawara’s. And the florist seems fine with it.

Oikawa finds Sugawara on the Thursday tending to some flowers in the shop. He notices that grey mop of hair from outside the window and walks up to it for a better look. Sugawara doesn’t notice him immediately, too focused on his task at hand. Oikawa doesn’t mind—he admits taking a liking to merely watching the man go about his job.

When Sugawara finally looks up, Oikawa greets with victory sign and a mouthed ‘ _ya-ho_ ’. The surprised expression on Sugawara’s face melts into a warm smile, his owlish eyes twinkling against the glass pane and it’s all Oikawa can ask for.

A fresh wave of pine hits his nose when he enters, accompanied a _ding-ding_ of the bell on the door. It’s silly to say, but Oikawa’s grown oddly fond of that sound. It reminds him of Sugawara.

He’s wearing the same outfit as any other day—a white tee with cropped khakis, a green smudge over a knee that matches the stain on the bottom of his Converse sneakers, topped with the store’s yellow apron and Oikawa has never seen anyone so alluring in such simple ensemble.

“Good morning Tohru.”

One look from Sugawara and Oikawa concludes that it’s because the man doesn’t need fancy clothes. Sugawara Koushi has a style—steady and simple. It’s in the way he talks, with every word bearing no underlying meaning, and it’s in his movements. Every action has meaning and intent to do right by his flowers and customers and his staff. His simplicity is what makes him captivating.

“I’m going to have to start charging by the minute if you keep looking at me like that.”

Oikawa shakes out his daze. How long has he been standing here watching Sugawara?

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some exotic animal just imported into the zoo.”

“Well, your hair _is_ pretty unusual,” Oikawa says. He takes a look around the store, noting the extra signs with hearts and special prices marked for _‘White Day Event’_. “Cute drawings.”

Sugawara follows Oikawa’s line of sight and gives a small smile, as if remembering something dear. Oikawa wonders if he’s ever a source of that kind of smile. “Those were Yachi’s idea. She actually suggested we hop on the White Day bandwagon and promote the store.”

He motions towards the back counter, which is currently piled with dried flowers and leaves intertwined like untied wreaths. “She also came up with the flower crown idea. Give it out to our customers.”

“Smart girl.”

“Yes, and one whom you’ve scared,” Sugawara says with a pointed look.

Oikawa puts his hands up in defence. “I’ll apologize. Learned the lesson that I do not want to get on your bad side.”

Sugawara puffs out an amused breath of air. “No, you most certainly do not.” He goes to the back of the shop and returns with two big buckets, one empty and the other filled with water. One by one, he starts dumping the remainder of water in the flower buckets and refills them with fresh batches.

“So how’s your business trip going?” Sugawara asks as he pours.

Oikawa shrugs. “It’s going.”

“Are we still playing 20 Questions here? You never told me what you do.”

“I’m a consultant of sorts. Clients come to me for specific needs and I deliver them what they want.”

“Sounds salacious.”

Oikawa does a double-take and chuckles at Sugawara’s wink. “Not that kind of need.”

“More so business? Corporate?”

“You can say that.”

“So if, for example, _Flowers and Pistils_ needs some kind of consulting, we can come to you?”

“Well,” Oikawa starts with a smirk. “My services are not cheap. And my clientele are…of an exclusive brand.”

Sugawara responds with an equally confident smile. “I’m sure we can afford you.

“ _This_ small shop?”

“Small but mighty,” Sugawara quips. “Business is thriving, my flowers are blooming, the sun is shining.”

The entrance bell rings in visitors, a mother with her small daughter hand in hand. The mother gently reminds the child to not run around and use inside voices, the latter of which the girl chooses to ignore.

“Mama, mama! They’re so pretty!” The girl squeals, her eyes widened with wonder. “They’re so colourful and bright!”

Sugawara chuckles and walks over to chat with them. Oikawa stays back. He should go. He’s stayed here long enough.

He doesn’t.

It’s a short engagement, simple pleasantries are exchanged before the mother picks up a bouquet of carnations and brings it to Sugawara at the counter. All the while, the little girl continues her exploring. She stands on toes to smell all the flowers and observe closely into the centre of every petal.

Sometimes, it takes a child’s eye to see the spectacle of it all.

“It sounds lame,” Sugawara says after they are gone, “but it never gets old for me when someone compliments on my flowers.”

“They _are_ well-kept. I can see you put a lot of care in them, Suga- _chan_.”

The florist shrugs, a hint of melancholy in his eyes. “It’s…one of the things I’m good at.”

“And that’s why you’re here,” Oikawa reminds. “Tell me, what’s your secret?”

“Cocaine.”

Oikawa whips his head towards him. Again, a wave of relief comes in when Sugawara laughs. Good. The Box is safe.

“Only half-joking on that though,” Sugawara says and pulls out a small packet. “Flowers love sugar. It’s nourishment and helps them bloom better.”

He proceeds to sprinkle a good amount of sugar into a bucket. “But it also encourages bacteria growth so we change the water every other day to make sure it’s always fresh. We also give a few drops of bleach from time to time.”

“It’s a lot of work.”

“Flowers are high maintenance, didn’t you know?” Sugawara jokes. “They need to be primped and kept in cooler temperatures. There must be sun in the vicinity but they cannot be in direct contact and remember, almost mist not pour.”

The disbelief on Oikawa’s face causes Sugawara to gasp dramatically.

“I forgot to tell you _not_ to water over the succulent leaves. They tend to mold!”

Oikawa looks to the side. “I haven’t watered it yet.”

He grows uncomfortable with the following silence, guilt creeping up to his face, before Sugawara sputters out a laugh.

“I didn’t know you can make that expression. Don’t worry, I told you that it’s better for succulents to dry up than drown.”

What is it. What is it about Sugawara that calms Oikawa at the centre as much as it excites his blood? He plays along with the jokes, if only to see Sugawara’s eyes crinkle with amusement. It eases him, as if things are alright and normal in the world and there are no obligations tied to Oikawa even though outside of it all, outside the Box that Oikawa has chosen to pull out, there’s a laundry list of guns and targets and money handed under the table in exchange for death.

Sugawara moves to grab a second bucket of water, this time filled maybe too close to the top as water splashed to the floor. Just as he is about to set it on the floor, Sugawara misses a step and his Converse makes a loud squeak before the man is falling backwards to the ground.

The thing with instinct is, your brain doesn’t process what’s happened the same time your body does.

One second Oikawa’s loitering around and the next, he has a flustered florist crushed against him between his arm and chest, his legs awkwardly on the floor to help break the fall.

Oikawa’s heartbeat is as loud as the silence in the room. The heat against his front is searing, as are his hands currently gripped around Sugawara’s bare arms. It’s soft, his skin. Tantalizingly so. He opens his palms slowly before he decides that he likes the contact. The skin to skin heat. Oikawa peers down and his mouth runs dry from the exposed neck, craned down in a teasing stretch. A wild thought of how much it would take to colour it suddenly comes forth.

And it feels right. Sugawara fits just in the right places in the protective curl Oikawa’s made with his arms, the man nestled comfortably.

He lets out a breath, catching the shiver on Sugawara in the process.

“You alright?” Oikawa does his best to keep a steady voice, though he hears the airy roughness behind it.

Sugawara wordlessly nods.

Licking his lips, Oikawa helps him up, steadying the man who’s currently refusing to look at him.

“Shit,” he mumbles, assessing the spilt mess from the toppled bucket, “got all wet.”

“My bad, thank you for easing my fall.”

Sugawara still is avoiding his gaze, his bangs no longer held back by the two hairclips and falling forward. So Oikawa reaches to fix his hair, pulling back his bangs and securing them with the clips. It makes Sugawara finally look up.

And they’re close. Really close. Oikawa realizes that he’s not much taller and doesn’t have to look down as much and Sugawara’s forehead is very, very nice. Smooth and pretty. Like the rest of Suga- _chan_.

Like his eyes, big and round, currently peering up at him with a good hint of apprehension and whole lot of wonder. Like that girl earlier marvelling at the flowers, Sugawara watches with a kind of intensity that shakes Oikawa to the core. And it feels like he can’t control the shaking.

But just as the moment is created, it is lost the next second. Sugawara backs away, clearing his throat and shaking off the remaining droplets of water from his hands.

“You should…” Sugawara starts, his voice small and hesitant, croaky as if something’s stuck in his throat. “You should dry off.”

He should leave.

“I have paper towel in the back—”

“It’s alright,” Oikawa manages to say, “Need to head back.”

He really should. He should’ve stuck to his rules. Not let that Box be opened for too long. He’d thought for a moment he can rest for a bit, take a break from it all, and peer into that one-second window that is Sugawara’s daily life; but it seems Oikawa’s taken more than the time he’s given.

It does get easier—to allow himself the liberty, the chance to let go of the strict rules and logic and the abstinence of what it takes to be a _normal human being_.

But now it’s so so hard to pull back.

His heart thumps louder with every step he takes away from the flower shop, his chest heavier from the distance. Fuzzy is the mind that goes when it’s flying off on emotions it doesn’t understand. The short walk back to his room is a blur until Oikawa lays his sight on the Wall full of pictures and notes that means jack shit to him because at the end of the day, a job is a job is a job. And once this job is done, he’ll pack everything up, dump all the paper and evidence and move on to the next.

But he knows, oh how Oikawa knows for the past few days and tries to deny, that Sugawara Koushi is not a job and he won’t be able to dump this memory of him like a filed record into the agency’s archives.

Oikawa mindlessly dries off, staring at his hands a few times as the phantom sensation of Suga’s skin comes back to him with heated waves. He comes out of his bathroom a little disoriented, the four walls suddenly feeling like they’re constricting him, before he finds solace in the small potted plant standing innocently on the nightstand beside his bed.

He wipes a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes in the process.

This is dangerous.

He doesn’t know how to close the Box.

He needs to contact Iwaizumi. To pull him out, to remind him, to ground him.

His feet are already itching to go back to where Suga is and Oikawa instead forces his body onto the bed and focus his eyes on the cracked ceiling above him. His phone is a grasp away from his hand, ready to send Iwaizumi a message of help but he doesn’t. Not one ink of sleep crawls upon him and he doesn’t remember being awake the entire night before the first ray of morning sun peeks through his window.

What alarms him as much as it confirms what’s happening is the fact that the first thing going through Oikawa’s mind is visiting Suga. Seeing his face and hearing his good-morning’s.

It’s like his body is on auto-function until Suga is in sight and Oikawa’s feeling all kinds of awkward and anxiety again.

The shop is busier than usual, with visitors already buzzing around this early in the day. Suga is surrounded by customers, his demeanor relaxed despite the high traffic coming through the store. There’s a flower-crown nested on top of his head, a simple mirage of cream white, pale yellow, and thistle green.

It seems like the perfect combination for Suga.

Oikawa waits patiently, standing off to the sidewalk as a bunch of customers hound Suga for questions and advice. Who knew how clueless some people can be when it comes to gifting loved ones for White Day? He holds back a secret smile—technically he should give something in return for the succulent.

When he sees an opening, Oikawa strides up, already locking eyes with Suga in a hesitant glance. They had parted yesterday on a weird note.

Just as he opens his mouth to speak, an elderly woman breaks in front of him and unloads a series of questions.

“Dearie, I can’t decide between these two to give to my friend. She gave me _such_ a wonderful present!”

“I’d go for the tulips, Mia- _san_. They’ve bloomed very well this season,” Suga responds softly.

“Yes yes, quite exquisite.”

When it seems like the conversation has ended, Oikawa steps forward to greet but yet again—

“What about carnations? The violet colour is so vibrant and I thought maybe it’d go well with my friend’s garden.”

Suga by now is shooting Oikawa amused looks as he provides his suggestions and consultation. Oikawa is far from entertained and glares at the back of the white fuzzy-haired elderly, wishing sudden death to her friend so there wouldn’t be any flowers to buy for in the beginning.

“Such a lovely idea! Thank you sweetie for helping me,” she coos and steps towards the shop entrance before turning again. “And do you think—”

“Move it grandma,” Oikawa snaps.

The woman rests an offended hand over her offended chest, her face appalled. Bold of her to assume he’s in the wrong when she’s been hogging Suga this whole time.

A gentle hand lays on Oikawa’s forearm, leaving an electric _zing_ through his nerves. His eyes lower to the contact when he notices small scratches on Suga’s hand.

Hot flashes burn over his chest as he zones in on the cuts. Thin lines of red randomly over the back of the hand, red flaring around each short scratch. Definitely fresh—those haven’t been there yesterday. Fresh and shallow, from the way the skin is starting to heal already.

Oikawa doesn’t hear Suga’s apology and explanation to the elderly. His attention is on the florist in front of him, protective instinct bursting inside.

“What happened?”

Suga looks at him with a second of confusion before realizing what Oikawa’s looking at. He pulls his hand away, covering it but it doesn’t help since his other hand also wears the same scratches.

Oikawa takes in Suga’s wrist, gently pulling so as not to alarm him. His nose flares.

“What happened?” He repeats, his tone hard and demanding.

“Nothing, it was just a cat.” Suga regards him with mirth. “Why are you like this all of a sudden?”

Because Sugawara is an enigma that dropped unannounced into his life and Oikawa can’t imagine him to be harmed by anything, anyone. Because like it or not, Oikawa cares. He cares about Suga more than he should and he’s invested more than he should in a person and the lines between the job and everything outside of it is blurring out of control.

“What did you do the cat to make it attack you like this?”

Suga shrugs. “Cats are fickle creatures, I just wasn’t careful as I should’ve been.”

“Mhmm,” is all Oikawa can manage, his attention all on the soft hand now roughened up by claw marks. He rubs a smooth spot absentmindedly and pulls Suga’s wrist closer, closer, _closer_ and brushes his lips against Suga’s knuckles.

Oikawa freezes. He looks up to see Suga watches him intently, something in his eyes that holds Oikawa locked in his position. It’s a spark, a mutual interest that Oikawa’s definitely not imagining and the rising pulse he feels from Suga’s wrist is a confirmation of that.

Say something.

Say something say something _say something_.

But the magic is gone as instantly as it came. When someone beside them clears their throat, Oikawa instinctively drops his hand while Suga jerks a step back.

“Hello, I’m here for the flower arrangement. My appointment is at noon.” The man says smoothly, yet with cold caution. He’s staring at Oikawa with a tight line on his lips while Oikawa wonders what the hell this guy’s problem is.

He’s a man of short stature, with pale brown hair and a straight face as sober as his eyes. This is someone new, an unfamiliar face Oikawa hasn’t seen visiting the store before, yet there’s a gnawing feeling that Oikawa should recognize him from somewhere.

The discomfort is dropped when Suga steps into the scene again as he leads the man inside the shop with a familiar smile. He darts a quick look at Oikawa beforehand.

His fingers burn. His lips tingle.

Fuck.

\---

That gnawing feeling is soon explained when Iwaizumi rings him over the weekend in response to Oikawa’s SOS message.

“What happened to not getting involved during a mission?” Iwaizumi sounds unsurprised, as if he’d expected this to happen.

Oikawa chuckles humourlessly. “I’m only human, Iwa- _chan_.”

No more lying to himself.

“You better pull yourself out before you develop any attachment.”

Too late.

“Why? What are you not telling me?”

“Found the broken trail of that truck’s license plate back. It links back to Yaku Morisuke.”

Double fuck.

That’s whom he should’ve recognized as. One of Nekoma Clan’s most trusted advisors. What in the ever-loving- _fuck_ is he doing all the way out here, 400 kilometers from his operating zone?

Oikawa manages an unsteady breath before responding. “He was here. He was at the shop.”

More importantly, he’s come in contact with Suga. He _knows_ Suga. And that just put Suga in more danger that he needs to be.

“At least we found it. Yaku’s the connection. I’ll send you the details soon. Our client should be happy.”

Suga needs to know. Oikawa needs to get him out of this place because his gut is telling him that this is bigger than some surveillance job, some small stakeout than a faceless client requested. Wherever Nekoma is involved, ugly events follow.

“Do you hear me dumbass?”

“Yeah,” he says absentmindedly.

A quiet few seconds pass before Iwaizumi talks again. “Don’t get more involved.”

Oikawa hangs up.

\---

As promised, the details arrive in an encrypted email, showing hard evidence of the link between the flower shop’s delivery truck to the high-ranking officer of the Nekoma clan.

Sunday evening, Oikawa forwards their discovery to the client.

Monday morning, his handler calls.

Oikawa can’t shake off the unease in his stomach.

“Pack your bags. The job is done.”

It only occurs to Oikawa now that he’d never knew what it meant for the job to be finished. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. Seems that the client is very satisfied with your update last night. Your cut of the second million has already been transferred into your account. Well done.”

The long tone signifying the end of the call trails on as Oikawa registers the information.

Too fast.

Despite being in this line of career for so long, everything is happening too fast for Oikawa.

That uneasiness has grown into a massive wave threatening to overturn his stomach because all Oikawa can think of is—

Suga. Got to get to Suga.

\---

The early morning has yet to clear, giving an eerie overlay on _Flowers and Pistils_ as it comes to view and for once, the shop doesn’t give him a sense of comfort. The heavy feeling drops even lower when he sees Suga and Yaku walk out of the building, chatting familiarly so.

It’s Suga who notices Oikawa’s advancing figure first. His eyes turn alarmed and that uneasy feeling rise again.

“Tohru? What are you—”

“Get away from him.”

Yaku has the audacity to appear unfazed. “You again.”

“Me again,” Oikawa sneers as he steps in between the two. Suga has a hand on his wrist but he ignores his protests. He has a death wish, he honestly does, directly picking a fight with the Nekoma clan but Suga’s come in contact with them and Oikawa would rather not have him more involved with whatever the fuck is going on. “Close the shop today, Suga.”

“Wha—”

“You don’t want to have this guy around your store.”

“You’re acting crazy right now, I can’t just—Tohru _stop_.” Suga yanks Oikawa to the side though no prevail. Oikawa doesn’t know which is worse, Yaku with that bored expression or Suga’s rising tone of aggravation.

He leans close to Yaku to eye-level, boring down on him and speaking in a quiet tone so Suga can’t hear. “What are the cats doing in this part of town? What’s your business?”

Just then, Oikawa hears a door slamming in the distance and out of the corner of his eye, he spots a dark haired man advancing towards them. He grimaces. What the fuck is Kageyama doing here now?

He doesn’t have a moment to think as Yaku finally breaks his silence.

“Have him handled, Koushi, or I will.”

His blood runs cold. They know each other personally? Friends? Family? A nagging tug pulls at his stomach. Something comes to mind which Oikawa hasn’t considered before. Why hasn’t this connection been identified?

A flood of thoughts swim through his head as he tries to line missing pieces together. Because there must be something he’d missed, something that had swept by him in the past two weeks. His mind is stuffed with information that he almost misses Kageyama calling out, his face distressed, his hand reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket—

Screeches of car tires hit his ears. Quick shouts follow and a flurry of movements happen in mere seconds. The first shot is made.

Oikawa goes on auto-pilot.

His legs drop to the ground and Oikawa quickly orients himself within the surrounding. There’s a black sedan right in front of shop, two guns sticking out the rolled down windows firing relentlessly at…not him but towards the building. His hand instinctively reach inside his chest when he realizes there is no weapon on him. Shit. Shit shit _shit_.

Oikawa looks around for Suga and catches him being dragged into the store by none other than Kageyama. With one swift movement, Oikawa lifts himself up and tumbles towards the shop, crashing in through the torrent of bullets and surprisingly not getting hit by any. Piss poor aim, those amateurs.

Inside, his eyes scan for Suga and his sight turns red when he spots Kageyama hovering over the man on the ground. Suga. Suga’s in danger.

In a blinding rage, Oikawa launches himself towards Kageyama, catching him by the arm and flipping him face-up onto the ground.

Kageyama swings his leg hard against Oikawa’s side, knocking the air out of Oikawa. His grip on Kageyama loosens and the young man flips himself up before turning a gun on Oikawa’s chest. Too slow. Oikawa elbows Kageyama’s raised hand up and quickly lands a punch right below the sternum. Kageyama falters and Oikawa takes this split-second opportunity to grab him by the neck and launch them both onto the floor when—

A cold sharpness presses against his neck.

Oikawa stills, eyeballing the hand holding the X-Acto knife currently threatening to pierce through his veins. He trails his eyes up the familiar arm to the familiar face, the one Oikawa’s so accustomed to seeing now. The one that warms his chest and brings him out of the Box and distills a calm over him with a smile that blooms with the flowers around him.

Except this face is cold. So cold cold cold and still and unfamiliar.

Sugawara Koushi, with his beauty mark an antithesis to his current disposition, regards Oikawa with chilled eyes.

“I told you before, Oikawa, don’t cause trouble for my staff.”

And with an audible thud that sends tremors throughout his entire being, the contents inside the Box begin spilling out. The well-protected, carefully maintained parts that Oikawa has finally accepted as part of his life begins to spread, touch, and blend into the old portion of himself. The one of guns and hit-lists and contracts that end with blood on his hands.

“You’re with Nekoma.”

Suga doesn’t confirm, but he doesn’t deny either. His somber smile is answer enough.

The sharp tip against his skin brings him back and Oikawa loosens his grip on Kageyama. He let himself be shoved off, the dull hurt inside his chest is distracting enough. Had Suga known all this time? Had he played into Oikawa’s fallacy and string him along? What had been the motive?

This is why he doesn’t open the Box.

Emotional harm is far more damaging that physical.

Yaku comes out from the back of the store, a thick folder tucked under his arm. “Well, at least we got their attention.”

“Call Daichi?”

“They’re notified. You need to get out of here.”

The piercing sound of glass shattering forces everyone down to the floor. Fuck, they’re still shooting at them, whoever they are. Good question, in fact. Who are those trying to kill them? Who has the balls to come face to face with Nekoma?

Another shot comes through and Suga cries out, hovering over his left arm. Oikawa sees a patch of red on his shirt and grimaces. Questions can come later. Right now, they need to get out of this mess. Even with four men, they’re still out-powered by weapons.

Kageyama scrambles under the window. He waits until the shooting pauses before attempting to assess the situation outside. When the sound of car doors closing hits their ears followed by Kageyama cursing, Oikawa knows they’re in for an intimate clashing.

The shop door is kicked open, the ugly clanging of the entrance bell no longer a welcome signal. Two burly men enter and Oikawa springs from the floor, catching one by the waist and thrashing them both into the side wall.

Multiple shots are fired but the lack of pain pushes him to keep moving. With quick thinking, Oikawa grabs a nearby flower bucket and dump it over his opponent’s head, blinding him for the moment as he yanks the man around and effortlessly twists his arms back. He’s kicked in the calf and Oikawa responds by landing two impacts against the side of the man’s knees, bringing him to the floor.

Oikawa’s suddenly knocked over with a loud thud against his ear, his body flying across the aisle and knocking over some shelves. Piercing pain shoots through his brain as he tries to orient himself, his vision bright and blurry. A big blob charges towards him one second and the next, a bone-cracking impact hits him across the face.

A disgustingly meaty hand grabs his hair and pulls him off the ground. He feels a warm trail of liquid coming from his nose. No doubt it’s broken.

“Didn’t the boss say ‘minimal engagement’?” His opponent sneers.

There’s a second of confusion before Oikawa comes to understand. These people are the same ones that had hired him?

“Shame to break such a pretty face.”

Just as he curls his fist to land a good solid punch, a jerk from the hand that holds his hair makes Oikawa look up. Suga crashes into the man from behind with the grace of his hand witnessed by Oikawa before when he had been cleaning the flowers, Suga slashes several shallow cuts across the man’s back and all over his neck.

Oikawa is let go and he watches in shocking awe as the grey-haired florist of _Flowers and Pistils_ swings his body over with fluidity, locks his legs around the man and uses gravity to pull them down. With no hesitation, Suga brings his knife down to the hollow base of the man’s neck and drags it across just right the right collarbone, his aloof face watching as blood spills from the wide, jagged cut.

The final round of gun shots echoes through the shop as the thump of a heavy body against the wooden floor signifies the last opponent neutralized. An eerie silence is heavy amongst the four.

Oikawa still has his eyes on Suga, who turns to him with a serene expression. His hazel eyes, clear as ever, bears into Oikawa as if pushing through the denseness growing inside Oikawa. Tiny droplets of blood tattoo onto his skin like red tears drying. But there is no surprise, no regret in his gaze.

Just then, Oikawa thinks he has never seen something so ethereal.

He shakes his head and lets out a humourless laugh. “Just an assistant, huh?”

After seconds of consideration, Suga responds with the same words Oikawa had once said to him. “It’s unwise to make assumptions—might lead you to dangerous situations.”

\---

The locals are shaken up. Things like this don’t happen in a town where the biggest gossip is probably when the son of the ramen shop owner had decided to discard his inherited ramen duties for bigger dreams in the city. It becomes the talk of the week—the shootout at _Flowers and Pistils_ early morning Monday, leaving shattered glass on the sidewalk and an even bigger mess inside.

Flowers ripped of their petals, are brutally scattered across the floor along with two very dead men. One with a bullet hole on his forehead and two more in his chest while the other one staring dauntingly above as the brownish-red blood congeals around the deep gash across his neck.

The police quickly identifies them after taking a look at their tattooed arms, the sleeves exemplifying the pride of the _Shiratorizawa_ Clan.

And slowly, the dots start to connect.

 _Shiratorizawa_ , a prominent _yakuza_ dominating the Miyagi prefecture. They’d caught wind of rumours, hearsay, bird whispers of a new group of delinquents who dares to rise up in their territory. Who are they to operate on the White Eagle’s territory? They don’t even have the resource, the connection, the power to grow—these mere insects that should just stay below the ground.

Except, they do.

Another whisper had murmured the name _Nekoma_. Their distant neighbours, the all-powerful clan who dominates Tokyo. They have a longstanding agreement, a truce one might say from years before—you stay on your land and I’ll stay on mine. Works out well that way. No _yakuza_ can really control an entire nation.

But _Nekoma_ tries. They extend their giving hand to a nest of hungry crows in exchange for a new distribution point that’s far beyond their reach of jurisdiction. Test it out—the new drug route and targeted market. Sales prove to be good, further empowering the newly formed _Karasuno-Kai_ and in turn further irritating _Shiratorizawa’s_ bottom-line.

The baby crows had needed to be squeezed of their lives. But this is all just conjecture. Proof is needed. One doesn’t start a war with a powerful clan based on bird whispers.

And that is where Oikawa had found himself—in amidst a rising power struggle between two notorious _yakuza_ clans. And regrettably involved with _Karasuno-Kai_.

Suffice to say, he put it all behind him.

One job after the next, no?

It had apparently been _Shiratorizawa’s_ intention to scare, not terminate the front-facing personnel of _Flowers and Pistils_. After the altercation inside the shop, the car outside had driven off without another round of bullets.

Kageyama, like the good little underling, had quickly retrieved the car and in Yaku and Suga had slipped. No further words exchanged, no explanation, only a quiet—

_“See you around.”_

Not likely.

A month has passed.

Oikawa has just completed his latest contract. A corrupted politician standing in the way of another corrupted politician so she needs to be taken out before the next prefectural election. Good money, simple job. Simple—in its recently redefined meaning.

A one-man work with the exception of bantering with Iwaizumi. One week of studying, another week of prep, and one day for execution. Quite literally. It’s his usual method and his now preferred. No bullshit stakeouts, no long-term observations, no distracting obsessions over one human being that can sway his decision-making rationale and _heart_.

Whatever has become of that flower shop, he doesn’t know. Because it’s irrelevant. It can burn for all he cares. The Box inside his head sure has.

God fucking damn it.

Oikawa grabs a _Sapparo_ from the fridge and plops down on the couch. There’s already two new jobs up for grabs, the list of details in the tablet he’s holding. The room is silent and usually he’s okay with it. Loves it. Helps him concentrate. Tonight, it’s stifling.

The small succulent pot sits mockingly on the coffee table.

\---

A few days later, he finds a small bundle of dried Larkspur on the footsteps of his door. A small card taped to the string.

_Fancy a dip?  
Tokigawa Onsen. 6PM._

A burst of anger blows up from within. How he knows where Oikawa lives is beyond him. But if Sugawara Koushi—or whoever the fuck he really is—thinks that Oikawa will go to wherever he beckons from…

3 hours out of Tokyo.

It’s doable.

\---

The owner of the bath house looks as tough as the men guarding the entrance outside. Life has worn her down in the form of leathery wrinkles and stringy grey hair lining the sides of her face. Hunchback is the way she sits, hovering over the front desk as she reads an old-aged book. For the kind of patronage she’s servicing tonight though, she looks exceptionally at peace and unconcerned.

Without Oikawa’s prompt, the old lady gestures a hand towards the baths.

Oikawa nods his head a slow bow. For this kind of establishment—a neutral zone for the underworld parties to meet—respect is demanded.

He passes by Kageyama Tobio on the way, his distinct posture that looks like there’s something up his ass still composed as ever. The brat stands side by side with another familiar face. Hinata Shouyou.

Figures.

The whole damn flower shop is a farce.

Steam hits his face when Oikawa enters the baths. It’s a small area—a section to shower and clean yourself before dipping into the communal pool. Only one person occupies the room.

Sugawara Koushi sits with his back to the entrance, as if he knows. As if he trusts that no one, not even Oikawa Tooru, contract hire specializing in a certain type of _cleaning up_ , will hurt him.

His gray hair still shines as ever, combed sleekly back and down along the curve of his slender neck. His back is a pearl-white canvas, a perfect blank mural waiting to be painted with vibrant colours and deep ink.

It’s already started, Oikawa notices.

Three black birds flying in a circle, travelling along the grooves of his right shoulder blade.

Fuck if he isn’t turned on by it.

Oikawa strolls towards the square-shaped pool, walking the edge until he’s adjacent to where Suga sits peacefully and slides into the water. He watches Suga intently. Not out of wariness, but of expectation.

No longer will he make the first move now.

“I hope you kept the flowers,” Suga says after a while.

“Why am I here?”

“You tell me.”

“You summoned me.”

“ _Requested_ ,” Suga corrects drolly. “You had a choice not to come.”

Oikawa doesn’t like to be outsmarted. But he admits he savours it when it comes to Suga.

“So why _are_ you here?”

Oikawa pulls an arm up and rests his hand against his hand. “Guess I’m intrigued.”

“By?”

“You. This. The absurdity of it all.”

Suga smiles and it punches Oikawa right through the gut. He had no idea how much he’s missed this smile.

“Nothing absurd about it. You tried to play me when I really played you.”

“When did you know?”

“When you started asking about Shimizu,” Suga answers. He then lies his head back against the edge of the pool and rests his eyes closed. The tight exposure of his pale neck does wonders to Oikawa’s libido. Box: re-opened.

Fuck.

He’s weak.

No matter how much Oikawa tries to deny it, Suga has become his weakness.

“We knew _Shiratorizawa_ would come scope us out. We wanted them to. It’s a statement. _Karasuno-Kai_ is here.”

“You were playing them.”

“Setting a statement.”

“That you’re in league with the _Nekomas_?”

“Hey, crows don’t win by following the rules.” Suga lolls his head towards Oikawa, peeking lazily through one eye, the one where that beauty mark lies below and god fuck if it isn’t sexy. “We’re setting up shop in _Yamagata_. It’s a fairly big city with potential market and on the JR East line. Daichi and Asahi are already there.”

“And what is it this time, a candy store?”

“Don’t be silly,” Sugawara softly admonishes. “I really do like the normalcy of it. Taking care of plants and showing people how _is_ a break for me.”

Oikawa’s brows furrow. “And I should know this because…”

“We’d like you to extend a position to you. A sort of…contractor on stand-by.”

Oikawa waits for Suga to elaborate.

“We don’t have a lot of arms right now. The boys are young,” Suga nods towards the entrance, referring to Kageyama and Hinata. “Asahi’s more than capable but he’s just a one-man shop operating right now.”

“I’m sure you’re more than able to defend yourselves,” Oikawa counters. They both know he’s attributing to Suga’s mastery of close-combat. He won’t make the same mistake of assuming someone’s innocence where there’s an X-Acto-knife involved.

“ _I’m_ extending a position to you,” Suga revises with a deceivingly sweet grin. “There are some field trips I’m going on where I may need extra protection.”

The heart inside the Box skips a beat. It lives. It jumps. It _leaps_.

The man doesn’t wait for Oikawa’s response. With grace, he stands and languidly steps out of the pool, seemingly in no rush to cover his nakedness with the puny white towel. The image of Suga’s ass is now forever engrained in Oikawa’s memory.

“Let me know,” Suga murmurs, “you know where to find me.”

\---

It doesn’t take long to decide.

With a short ‘fuck you’ to his handler and a long reassurance to his technician ( _“Are you out of your goddamned mind?”_ ), Oikawa hops on to the train east with the succulent plant in his hand.

Shiratorizawa’s probably on his ass now.

Whatever. He’ll deal with it when he gets there.

When they get there. Because when Oikawa enters the flower shop, recently opened under a month ago under the name _Guns and Roses_ , and is greeted by the scent of that familiar mix wet soil and pine followed by that bell-like ring of Suga’s voice, his twinkling knowing eyes a soft-gray contrast to that tell-tale yellow apron, and that god forbidden gorgeous _gorgeous_ smile—he knows that there’s a _they_ in the future.

There’s no box anymore. It’s disintegrated, gone. Isn’t needed anymore because his whole damn head is the box. His entire heart and body.

Maybe that’s why when Suga says, “Welcome”, his legs just move on their own as if in a trance under Suga’s spell. Oikawa takes wide, hastened steps towards the back and rounds behind the cash counter. He unapologetically closes the gap between them and pulls Suga into a kiss.

He’s been wanting to do that for a while now.

It’s exhausting being in denial.

He’s probably making a lot of enemies now. Does Sawamura Daichi even know who he is? And why he’s currently sucking faces with Sugawara Koushi?

Whatever. He’ll deal with it when he— _they_ get there. His someday has just arrived and that little Box is not getting shoved back hidden and forgotten ever again.

A hand slides down Suga’s neck, tracing the elegant curve down to his shoulders and holding the ashen-haired man in solid place against Oikawa.

Suga pulls back, laughter in his voice as he opens to speak but Oikawa buds in instead.

“How can I be of service to you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i haven't mentioned it before - [CHECK OUT LIONHEART'S AMAZING ART FOR THIS FIC](https://lionheart-draws.tumblr.com/post/614929764131733504/my-piece-for-hqrarepairbang-which-i-did)  
> it's been a pleasure working with them; every time they share the progress of their art-piece for this fic, i get super excited and teary. the final piece is so beautiful holyfffff i will forever go back to that piece to uplift my spirits :'D
> 
> anywhoo--  
> well this was quite a learning journey for me; i can't write action so best to stay away from it. the idea initially was heavily inspired by gusari's doujin "first battle deployment". also, big thanks to my roommate for the name of the flower-shop and my friend chum for coming up with witty one-liners, in which i still need to work on.
> 
> last but not least, a big thanks to the organisers of the HQ!! Rarepair Bang. this is the first time that i've participated in such a big and collaborative project and it was definitely a learning experience for me. in turbulent times like now, it's always wonderful to have something so positive and uplifting such as this project. all the kudos to you mods!
> 
> hope you enjoyed the read :)


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